In another time, in another life
by AlwaysInSonder
Summary: "For thousands of years, for many lifetimes...you were always right there."
1. Chapter 1

_**Paris, France**_

 _ **Present Day**_

 _ **2:03AM**_

"M'lady?"

Marinette looked up in surprise and felt a soft smile form on her lips as soon as she saw who it was. His sleepy green eyes told all – why was his beloved but utterly crazy sweetheart doing up in the middle of the night, drawing? His shoulder was against the wall, his silk robes loose revealing a bare, muscled chest. How tantalizing he looked in the night – especially in the manner those eyes of his glinted like a cat's in the night.

"The sheets are so cold without my favourite bedbug."

She rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over from her studio to the door where he lened.

"That's not a cute nickname."

"It is to me! Cute names for my cute wife."

Somewhere in the darkness, a high-pitched giggle and a groan was heard as two small figures fluttered out the window to give the couple privacy. Adrien's arms came around her and she found herself stepping into a cocoon of strong, corded arms and a warm, silk-clothed body. He always smelled so wonderful – his own distinct scent that calmed her nerves and made her want to either jump his bones or melt in a puddle in his arms. Sometimes both. He squeezed her tight and she felt soft kisses to the top of her head.

She felt so loved.

"What's on your mind, my love?"

She leaned her cheek against his chest, allowing herself to listen to the gentle heart beat beneath.

"I was just up."

She could practically feel the aching curiosity emanating from her lover, but he knew that if she wanted him to know something, she would tell him in her own time.

"Have you… ever wondered if we've met before?"

She lifted her head to look up at him, his eyes were drawn to her own – they always looked so soft and loving.

"Like…in another time?"

Marinette's eyes widened. So, Adrien did know. She felt a hand on her cheek, lifting her chin up towards him. Lips brushed over her closed eyes as he spoke. His voice a gentle caress to her ears.

"I do. Sometimes I dream about it."

"Hmm…"

She nuzzled his cheek and very reluctantly pulled away. She grabbed his hand – wonderfully warm as the rest of him save for the slight cold press of his wedding band against her fingers. She took him to her desk, where she had been doodling designs for the new Fall/Winter collection to her line. But on top of the meticulously drawn and coloured patterns and designs, several sheets of paper had been strewn. In each messy sketch, there was a man.

"I saw him in my dreams."

"Already dreaming of other men, Mari?"

He lifted her hand and kissed it giving her a playful wink. Marinette couldn't believe that he could still render her speechless. Sometimes she forgot they were married.

"No…silly. Not in that way. I think it was during the French Revolution. He looked just like you. He had the miraculous too. And then I think in…Ancient China, in America... They all…just looked like you. In some way."

Adrien took one to inspect – it looked to be him. Only, the clothes appeared to be archaic. Black breeches, an embroidered black waistcoat and a white cravat. In place of a pin, there was a bell. He had on his Chat Noir mask. In another, a well-pressed tailcoat. A more unusual one had him with dark hair and what appeared to be a tunic. What got to him, was the fact that he recognised every single one of them. A stranger feeling being, he didn't know how. He had a vague idea, but he needed to do some research first.

He sat himself down on her chair and pulled her to his lap.

"…What if I told you, that I dreamt the same? But of you."

Marinette perked in his arms and turned to look at him incredulously.

"What?! Why didn't you tell me?"

She watched as her husband's cheeks flooded with a blush and he nudged her cheek with the sort of shy reluctance she hadn't seen since they first started dating.

"I thought they were just fantasies. Some of them got real steamy."

It was Marinette's turn to blush and she stiffly returned her gaze to her drawings. Her hand rested over the drawing of the mysterious 18th century Frenchman that looked so much like her husband.

"Do you…do you think it's memories?"

It certainly felt that way. She never saw herself in the dreams, just Adrien. Or at least, a bloke that resembled Adrien. It made her wonder if there was something more to their Miraculous that they hadn't learnt about. She would have to make a visit to a certain eccentric old man soon.

"Of our past lives? I think so too."

The admission made both quiet. Why were the dreams only emerging so strongly now?

"Tell me what's on your mind Marinette."

A gentle hand rested on her cheek and a kiss was pressed to her brow. She wasn't even aware that she was frowning.

"It's just…why are they in pain? I can feel it. In my chest…"

She bit her lip, hoping that she wasn't going mad. What was she doing feeling sentimental over people that probably only existed in her dreams?

Adrien had gone oddly quiet at the point and Marinette decided not to push the subject further. He sensed it and squeezed her hand in gratitude.

"I love you, mon chat."

His lips formed a smile against her forehead.

"I love you too, my sweet bugaboo."

* * *

 **A/N: This is short, I am aware. But this is sort of an experimental piece that has been rattling about in my head for a while now. If it garners enough interest, I will gladly embark on this project! So please, do tell me your thoughts**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Paris, France**_

 _ **1789**_

 _ **5:03AM**_

His hands had been shaky the entire morning. Her blood, now dried, clung to his fingers – her screams still rung in his ears.

The nurses had to tear him off her body. A group of men had to drag him out of the infirmary. Plagg was uncharacteristically quiet. His little ears slumped and his bright green eyes cast downward. The kwami had attempted to comfort him, but gave up as soon as he realised the man was forever lost. A part of his soul had been forcibly ripped away from him – he was never going to be the same.

He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. His fingers curled around the locks, and his forehead rested on his palms. Tears flowed freely, staining the silk of his blood-stain shirt.

The Revolution was in full swing and the royal guard were increasingly loose with the use of their shotguns. There were fires and riots. Not a street was littered with broken glass, wood and people. There was a time he was on the opposing end of the movement – now, he spearheaded it.

He understood his father now. The old man never knew why his son would fall in love with a peasant girl. A mere baker's daughter with not a title nor dowry. He didn't understand why his esteemed son would be in love with her - with who she was and all the wonderful selfless things she did.

He hadn't before, when he took his vows with his wife; or the day the nurse set the warm, tiny bundle that was his precious daughter in his arms and he kissed the head full of dark, delicate curls. Not when he realised how much she looked like her beautiful mother.

It was the exact reverse.

His heart had filled with love then – and an immense, scary but all-encompassing emotion that the four-letter word did not cover. In his mind, he only thought of giving her everything in the world she desired. To see her smile; to do everything in his power to make her indescribably happy, safe and healthy.

It didn't even occur to him when little Elise took her first, shaky steps into his arms; said her first word nor when his wife had to carry their daughter to his shop because she had missed him so much.

" _She's papa's little girl."_

His wife would say. Or used to say. She was gone now, and things were different.

He understood his father now - the ferocious protectiveness his father had over him and his mother.

"Papa?"

Adrien lifted his head, quickly hiding his bloodied hands. Tired, red-rimmed eyes would rest evenly on the small figure before him. His heart clenched and he turned his head away before his daughter could see him. Such large bluebell eyes – so much like hers in how soft, kind and loving they were.

"Elise. It is still early, _ma chérie_. Go back to bed."

"Bu-"

"Please."

His voice had been hoarse and he had seen his daughter flinch at his sudden coldness. Her darling papa had never been this way and it pained him to know that he could never face his daughter like before.

He stood up, shakily walking over to the small basin in the corner of the room. He washed away whatever was left of her off his fingers. So much blood had caked them that his ring had been disguised. He quietly stared at the ring as rage boiled in him. None of this would have happened if he hadn't been Chat Noir, if she hadn't been Ladybug.

But there was no bringing her back now and those fiends will only come back for his – and he won't let them. Plagg's head finally perked up, sensing that he was needed again; the kwami didn't look too confident, but ready to serve.

His body glowed green and immediately, the fine suit of black glided over his body, his face masked.

He took a deep breath. He had a daughter to protect, a country to revitalise – a lover to avenge.

* * *

 _ **Paris, France**_

 _ **Present Day**_

"I found him. It looks like he lived right here in Paris."

"It's scary how much he looks like you."

Adrien nodded and shifted to sit next to her on their sofa. Marinette tilted her head, inspecting Adrien's laptop screen.

"Antoine Ferdinand, disowned son of the Marquis de Savigny. Oh Adrien, look! He has the ring!"

In the painting of the solemn-looking blonde man, there indeed was a silver ring that was far too alike with Adrien's own miraculous. Marinette turned to face him.

"I dreamt of him last night. It's definitely him."

She shifted the laptop towards herself, scrolling down the page.

"Born into the aristocracy, Ferdinand lived a life of luxury and comfort. On the night of his mother's mysterious death, Ferdinand mysteriously disappeared. There are historical records from some villagers purporting the emergence of one of the Revolutionary vigilantes – only known as _Le Chat Masqué_ , on the very same night leading to some theories as to the masked man's identity…"

"He got caught?!"

Marinette squinted at the screen, scrolling down a little farther.

"Doesn't seem like it. On the night of his wife, Monique Ferdinand was brutally murdered, Ferdinand was by her side till her last breath. _Le Chat Masqué_ was sighted that same night on the other end of Paris, protecting the commonfolk from the royal guard. He died a few years later in his sleep, survived by his daughter and estranged father who took her in as his own."

Adrien rubbed his eyes and sighed. He curled an arm around his wife, pulling her tight to his side.

"This is the third death we've found. It's almost as if there's a curse…"

Marinette rested her head on his shoulder, feeling her brow furrow.

"I'm sure it's only because they were part of a rough period of history…"

Adrien's arm curled tighter around her and Marinette quietened. She lifted her head to look up at her husband, realising now how unsettled he looked. She hated seeing him like this.

"Tikki?"

The little kwami fluttered over to the couple, Plagg trailed after with a chunk of camembert in his paws. Marinette lifted a hand, letting the red kwami rest comfortably on her palm.

"We just need to know…is there a curse attached to owning a miraculous?"

The kwami blinked her large blue eyes, looking over at her and then to Adrien.

"None that I know of, Marinette. But you should know that us kwamis don't retain the memories of our previous holders. We know who they are, but not what they did with us."

Marinette sighed and cuddled the kwami to her chest, Adrien bent over to give a kiss to his wife's cheek.

"Plagg? Anything?"

"Sorry, I'm in the same boat."

Adrien felt a certain fear clutch to his heart – it was a feeling that he had been sensing more frequently as of late. It reminded him of the night his mother disappeared, never to be seen again till his wedding with Marinette. At least, he was sure it was her.

"Marinette…what if you're in danger? Because of me?"

A warm, reassuring hand rested on his cheek and he felt a soft brush of lips on his cheek.

"Don't be silly Adrien, we've been together with our miraculouses for ten years now. There's nothing to worry about. If it'll make you feel better, why don't we track all reported incidents like _Le Chat Masqué_ throughout history. We might recognise some of them from our dreams."

"Why not go to Master Fu? I'm sure he would know."

"He's out of town, Adrien. And he isn't exactly known for being informative. Besides, some of these people have lived way before he was born. He couldn't have known all of them!"

Adrien sighed and returned his attention to the laptop to run a search on Monique Ferdinand.

"Well, looks like Monique was a baker's daughter – her father and herself played an important role in being informants for the resistance."

"A baker's daughter and a nobleman's son – what could they have had in common?"

"Love. And the spirit of the miraculous."

"Monique wasn't Ladybug…was she?"

"There aren't much records on laborers, but there's this: _La dame en rouge_. I figure it's Monique since the last sighting of _La dame_ was a week before her death."

Marinette peered over to his laptop and felt her eyes widen as she looked at the illustration. The lady had been reported to wear red from head to toe – including pantaloons; something she was sure was risqué for the period. Adrien's head lifted in recognition.

"I _definitely_ had a memory-dream about her. We were on the top of the Notre-Dame together."

"Adrien! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm sorry m'lady! I thought I was just having sweet dreams about you."

She flushed and pushed his nuzzling face aside.

"Not now, Adrien. We have more investigating to do."

* * *

 **A/N: Tell me your thoughts**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Tibet_**

 _ **Present Day**_

Fu took a sip of the steaming cup of broth and carefully set it down. His meal was still untouched. The old man across him didn't seem too perturbed, for he cheerily chewed. He sighed lightly and leaned forward, attempting to catch his attention. But before he could open his mouth, the old man had spoken up.

"It has begun again. Evil lurks closer towards the miraculous holders."

"I am aware, Master Li. It was why I came to you."

Li finally raised his eyes to meet his – confusion flitted across his features but he returned to his steamed vegetables.

"I would have thought you were the expert when it came to the miraculouses, Fu. I do not have the book nor have I even had the chance to look at them for a century now."

Li sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the tablet.

"Modern technology can be a blessing, you know."

* * *

 _ **Paris,** **France**_

 _ **Present** **day**_

 _ **10:07AM**_

"Do you think it'll be as bad as the last time, Tik?"

"I don't know, Plagg. I'm not sure if I even remember what exactly happened in the past lives. Do you?"

Plagg nonchalantly threw a piece of camembert nearly his size into his mouth and chomped happily.

"Not really."

Tikki sighed in exasperation and returned her attention to her cookie. Sometimes she wished Marinette would take her with her everywhere. But the couple needed their alone time and the kwamis needed their rest from a night of patrolling.

Definitively, Tikki knew that something significant – usually a death, occurred in each one of the past lives. Often times, it was the holder of the ladybug miraculous. A sudden thought creeped into her mind of the possibility of there being a curse tied with her that she gasped.

Plagg nearly choked and looked over to his fellow kwami in concern.

"Plagg, do you think we could be cursed?"

"Don't be silly. Ladybugs are lucky and black cats are…oh."

"The Japanese sign of good luck as well! Or a bringer of good fortune in ancient Egypt."

Adrien walked into the room with a basket of laundry. He set it down and looked over to both kwamis.

"I'm certain you two don't have anything to do with this. Marinette is likely right, it could be just because they were part of a chaotic time in history."

"In the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Marinette quipped as she entered as well, another basket of laundry in her arms.

"We leave you two alone so you guys could do laundry? I thought you were making a- ow! Tikki! That hurt!"

* * *

 ** _Long Island, New York, USA_**

 _ **1923**_

 _ **10:17PM**_

Adam leaned against the polished car and quietly waited as he always did, at the same place. The grand old mansion before him was filled with light, laughter and music. Jazz music blared from the gazebo in the gardens and piped through to the ballroom.

Soldiers milled about in their fine regalia, schmoozing with fine young flappers dressed to the nines. New money types flaunted their wealth, brandishing imported cigars and fine jewels from the far reaches of the world. Old money types milled about themselves within a smoky room, chattering amiably with their sort and politicians with flutes of champagne that seemed to never end. Matches would be fixed, pockets will be filled and policies made notably in their favour.

The Desrosiers threw yet another extravagant party for no other reason than that they simply could. He had only been in the party once or twice, but he knew with almost great certainty that the sights would be no different.

His boss, the Senator, would often stumble out of the imposing double doors of the mansion, drunk out of his mind. He'd give Adam a generous tip, clumsily stumble into the vehicle, and then pass out on the upholstery. It would take quite the effort to lug the portly man back to the not-as-grand, but notable mansion just down the fashionably wealthy avenue.

He glanced at his old pocket watch – a gift from his long-gone father, and sighed. It was nearly a quarter past the time the Senator usually left for home. Likely he was caught up gambling away whatever fortune and dignity he had left. His familiar, a little black cat, contented himself with a slice of camembert snuck from the kitchen.

"He's late again. His wife isn't going to be pleased."

Adam only smiled and folded his arms, his head tilted towards the sky. The vastness of the moonless, inky night sky was just glittering with light. It was a sight to behold and one that he could not enjoy in his cramped apartment in the city with all its lights and noise. The cool evening breeze danced idly about him – a stark contrast to the empty chaos that ensued just several feet away from him.

The doors finally opened and out stumbled a rather clumsy bundle in a hooded cloak. Adam knew enough from the slight figure and small, heeled feet that it was a lady. Likely a maid on her way home. Her soft voice mumbled a few words under her breath.

"Need a ride, doll?"

The lady squeaked in fright and tripped down the marble stairs. Adam rushed forward with his arms outstretched almost immediately and allowed the frazzled woman to fall to his chest.

"You alrigh-"

Adam looked down and felt his heart stop momentarily.

Such enchanting blue eyes.

Her hands rested evenly on his chest – she would be able to pick up the uptick in his heartbeat.

The woman herself – a young lady not much younger than himself, seemed far too lost in his own eyes. It took him awhile to register that the lady in question was not a maid. Far from it. Her dark hair was as short as her pink dress. Iridescent pearls, precious stones and shimmering feathers circled her elegant neck, hair and wrist. They glimmered in the glittering starlight that shone over them. Evidently, she was no maid.

"Oh my! I…I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about my lady. My fault for startlin' ya."

Her cheeks flushed pink and she quickly righted herself. He quickly helped her steady herself. Adam had helped rich dames from all corners of the continent in and out of cars before – all their hands dainty, soft and unblemished. Most of all - cold.

Hers, however, were a comforting warmth that held a slight roughness that indicated hard work. Callouses on her palms showed strength. Looks were indeed deceiving for they were not the hands of a flapper girl.

Their fingers lingered for several beats before the lady tugged them away gently with the glow on her cheeks deepened.

Where had he seen her before?

"Please Mister, it was my clumsiness. Mama always said it will be the death of me."

Adam chuckled good naturedly. Plagg shifted uncomfortably in his shirt pocket and Adam quickly covered it with his hand, bending forward in a bow.

"Well, how may I be of service to fine lady like yourself?"

He could have sworn he heard a light giggle – not from the lady, but almost from a fairy. He lifted his eyes curiously and heard the slight flutter of wings. Plagg was glumly seated in his pocket, beneath his hands. It couldn't have been him.

"Please, Mister-?"

"Adam's fine, my lady."

"Well then. I'm Marjorie."

Marjorie.

The name already etched itself to his heart and those eyes of hers to his mind. But then he heard yet another flutter and what he could have sworn sounded like a sneeze and the panicked woman brushed past him.

"It was lovely to meet you Adam. But I really must get going! Enjoy the party!"

She waved at him over her shoulder, tugging the hood back over her head and rushing out of the grand iron gates of the fortress. His hand lifted in a reluctant wave as he watched worriedly after her, hoping he hadn't made the mistake of letting a young lady dally off on her own in the middle of the night. If her hands were of any indication, it looked that wasn't exactly the delicate flower she appeared to be.

He did not know it yet, but he was already smitten.

* * *

 _ **New** **York** **City,** **New** **York,** **USA**_

 ** _3 days later_**

 _ **7:23PM**_

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing here. Let's go back to that French restaurant! I want more cheese."

"Plagg!"

He silenced the kwami with the last bit of cheese he had in his coat pocket. A child looked curiously over at him, blinking his large, dark eyes up at him before being tugged away by his mother. Adam gave the child a grin and quickly turned down the alley.

"I thought I told you to lay low!"

"Relax, people here are too stuck in their own drunk little bubbles to even notice."

"That kid nearly saw you!"

"Hey! You! What'cha doin' here?"

Adam straightened up and groaned internally as a policeman sauntered over to him.

"Nothin' sinister my good man, was just…uh… lookin' for my wallet."

Plagg pushed the wallet out of his pocket and it fell to his feet.

"Ah! There it is!"

He bent down quickly and snapped it up, waving it at him. He re-joined the bustling streets before the officer could prod him further.

One benefit of his job was that he wasn't needed every day. The Senator was driven by his bodyguards on the nights of weekdays and on the weekends, only needed his services on request. It made it easy to sneak out back to the city for his…other job. One that didn't put food in his and Plagg's stomachs, but was much, much more fulfilling.

"Thief! Thief! He has my purse!"

"Duty calls."

While concerned citizens, distracted by the cries of the woman moved forward, he slowly drifted backwards and slipped into a telephone booth. No one noticed the sudden flash of green for it blended into the bright splendour of New York's streets.

He emerged in black pinstripe coat made of a material he was certain was not found anywhere in the world for it lent a generous flexibility that coats typically did not. A black cane twirled in his fingers. In an instant, he was there at the scene, descending from the rooftops to the shock and awe of New Yorkers.

Only, their attention seemed to be on something else. The perpetrator was caught and was already escorted off by a pair of policemen. A fellow handed the purse back to the agonized victim.

"Oh thank you so much young man!"

"Not a problem, ma'am."

For a moment, a twinge of annoyance came over him. Mostly from the sense that he had been bested by someone else and that he had taken too long to respond to a cry for help. But then the young man in question – decked in what appeared to be a coat of maroon with spots of black, began to speak. His green eyes narrowed. It was tapered in at the waist, showing a more feminine, lithe figure and a slight swell in the chest region. He mentally struck himself for his unbecoming gaze and averted his eyes to the back of the figure's head – where the hair had been tucked into a newsboy cap.

The fellow in question turned and he was struck again – _again;_ by bluebell eyes framed by fluttery, dark lashes and a mask with a pattern that matched the suit. An instinct nagged at him – it was no young man.

Those eyes. He had seen them before.

A white butterfly fluttered over his line of vision and for a precious moment, he could return to his thoughts. He didn't know what upended him more. The lady in a man's clothes or the fact that he or she appeared to possess the sort of 'powers' he did. He had been so occupied in his thoughts, that he hadn't even noticed them coming up towards him. The voice too, more an attempt of sounding masculine than actually being.

"Ah, you must be the elusive Black Cat! I have heard much about you."

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews encourage me to write!**


End file.
